I’ve been sitting on this post for a while because I don’t want to jinx anything.
But almost two weeks ago, I felt it. And it was a moment worth remembering.
I walked outside to go for a run. I started my app, jogged down the driveway, around the corner, and onto the sidewalk that parallels the main road…
And it happened.
I noticed the sidewalk stretching out before me. Saw the azure blue of the sky. Smelled the dew on the grass.
And was grateful. And awake. And content. And alive.
The run wasn’t anything special. I think it was maybe two miles total with several walking breaks.
But for the first time in a long time, it felt like all of the gears in my brain were finally in sync and running smoothly.
The first time in a very long time.
It’s taken eight months.
Four medication changes.
Numerous psychiatric visits and emails.
Side effects from withdrawal from medication and adjusting to new medication.
Insurance company squabbles.
But the darkness has retreated for now.
And even though I’m hesitant to celebrate, I need to share it.
Even though I question why I’m not sleeping, or why I’m tired, or panic if I have a negative thought, I need to share this.
It gets better.
For anyone out there who fights the darkness, you need to know that there is always a light.
Sometimes from a completely unexpected place.
When your brain lies to you and tells you you’re worthless and you don’t matter and nothing matters and what’s the point of it all, read this:
YOU are worth it. YOU matter. YOU are loved, and valued, and treasured, and make the world a better place.
This is my third episode of major depression. Each time I needed help. By the second episode, I realized how to ask for it. With this episode, I decided to share the journey with the hope of helping others understand the struggle.
I have no regrets.
And I have many people I am grateful for.
Even though going “public”was frightening, it helped having support from so many. Some I know and some I don’t.
I am experienced enough to realize that the odds of another episode are likely. And that this illness will return, come out of remission, and try to take over.
So for now, I’m going to breathe. And enjoy the contentment while it lasts.
I’m going to enjoy the ability to be present in the moment.
And try to remember that the light may fade, it may be obscured, but it is always there.